


Hate Crime

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Series: Twenty/Twenty [4]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall
Summary: Starsky learns a few more things about Hutch, in this next prequel to 'Ghost Car'.  References to non-con sex in the past.  This story will become much more explicit in the second chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

Oddly enough, it wasn’t at the very beginning that any clear signs of trouble at Metro appeared. They’d been expecting something their first few days, despite the directive that came down from on high that police officers were not to exhibit any kind of prejudice against any minorities whatsoever, for any reason. But their first weeks at work had been peaceful. They were rookies, and they got the usual ragging. They would have been more worried if it hadn’t materialized. Both had been paired with older experienced cops who seemed to have no bigotry to speak of and who were good teachers.

They had the same shift, so they woke at the same time, ate breakfast – though not the same breakfast! – at the same time, and rode in together in one car, to save on gas. At the end of their shifts they usually went straight home, to relax and then maybe go out to a movie or to a club in WeHo. Or they stayed home to read, or even watch TV. 

Their apartment had two bedrooms, and they turned one into a study filled with as many of Hutch’s books as they could fit in. This gave them more space in the living room where they could practice martial arts in a restrained manner. Thus, they continued their Academy habit of practicing Spanish and hand to hand combat together. The combat often ended in them having sex on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Their bedroom was a sanctuary, complete with a mirror on the ceiling. That was where they made love – which they defined differently than having sex -- and talked long into the night, sharing as many memories as they could. Starsky was trying to encourage Hutch to share his memories of those bad years with him, and so banish their power. In aid of this he broke down and told Hutch about his own bad time in Afghanistan.

‘There was nothing good about it, Babe. We did nothing good there. We killed one terrorist, and ten more sprang up in his place.’

‘It was their own land, Starsky. They didn’t see themselves as terrorists, but as soldiers, defending their homeland.’

‘Yes,’ said Starsky. ‘I know.’

Hutch tried to reciprocate, but it was harder for him. His memories were vague and jumbled, and he often wasn’t sure they even were memories. And the missing pieces of his memory weren’t really anything he’d need in his everyday life. He knew he’d been born, went to school, went to Harvard, gotten married and divorced, and so on. He’d been correct when he said that most people didn’t need to know more.

Starsky needed to know more. He needed to know who had tortured his beautiful lover, so that if he ever had the chance he could exact retribution. 

Then, one day, they decided to take in a class in hand to hand combat at the the BCPD gym, to make sure their practice was getting somewhere. The teacher judged Starsky to be ahead of Hutch in proficiency and paired him with some other advanced students for the first few bouts. But after Hutch had defeated his own opponents, he and Starsky ended up together. 

Hutch’s grace and power deepened when he pitted himself against his lover. He knew what Starsky was going to do, before he did it, but then Starsky knew him just as well, and they circled and watched each other until suddenly they exploded in a series of beautiful exchanges of blows and kicks and evasions. When they finished and bowed to each other, they noticed the entire class had been watching. Even the teacher praised them. 

‘Thank you, Sensei,’ said Hutch. His eyes were bright and glowing. His hair was dark with sweat. He looked like he’d been engaging in a bout of fireplace sex. Starsky grinned as the class headed off to the showers. The women students were eyeing Hutch appreciatively, and even one or two of the men. None of this bothered Starsky, and Hutch didn’t seem to notice. He rarely noticed he was being cruised, unless the person became annoyingly persistent. 

They stripped and got under the showers with the same ease they always did. Hutch turned under the hot water, rinsing off the sweat. Starsky watched him, through the corner of his eye, not being too obvious since they were, after all, in public. Hutch’s beautiful, naked blond body seemed to glow. There were a few bruises from their martial arts bout, and a cut Hutch had accumulated the other day from a fight with a knife-wielding drug addict downtown. 

And there was the usual accumulation of hickeys on Hutch’s neck and ass and thighs. 

Starsky became aware, through some process of ESP that he had developed recently, that he was not the only man in the room who found Hutch’s body sexually desirable. Well, that was only natural. There may well be one or two other gay men in the room, to say nothing of the bisexuals, he thought. However, there seemed to be something disturbing about the atmosphere now, and Hutch felt it too. 

Hutch turned off his shower. ‘Hand me my towel, would you, Starsky?’ He had not turned to face the room but was bent over slightly with his hands braced against the wall. 

Starsky’s usual response to such a request would have been, ‘Who was your slave last year?’ Instead he jumped out of the shower, grabbed his towel and Hutch’s, and joined his lover in his stall. Hutch did not have an erection – Starsky’s first thought – and his incandescent glow had vanished.

‘Get me out of here, Starsky!’ he demanded in those icy tones he used when he was fighting to keep control of his temper.

‘Sure, Babe.’ Starsky got his clothes and Hutch’s out of their lockers, and shoved their sweaty gym clothes in a tote bag. Hutch had dried off, and was waiting rather impatiently, but said nothing. He had gotten quiet. Too quiet. They dressed quickly, and headed to the car they were using that day, Hutch’s old rattletrap. ‘You want to go straight home?’ Starsky asked.

‘No. Let’s go dancing. In WeHo. I need to burn off some bad energy.’

‘Hey, I don’t mind burning off your energy. You know that.’

‘Starsky.’

‘Okay, WeHo it is.’ Hutch was so edgy, that with anyone else Starsky might have suspected him of going looking for a bar fight. Maybe a bar fight was looking for him? Starsky got behind the wheel with no argument from Hutch, which was another clear indicator that his lover was seriously disturbed.

They got out of the car in WeHo, and headed down the Strip. Starsky suggested they visit one of their favourite clubs, but Hutch was in one of his moods where he demanded his own way, never a good sign. Starsky wanted to fight him for control, but they were out in public. What if it turned into a genuine fight? 

Hutch noticed a bar just across the street and headed that way. ‘Hey,’ said Starsky. ‘That’s a pretty notorious hustler bar. Hutch, we don’t want….’

Hutch ignored him and strode in through the door like a gunslinger in the Old West looking for a duel at high noon. The bouncer at the door barely eyed them. No one could have mistaken them for anything but what they were – a couple of macho gay men on the prowl. But on the prowl for what? Starsky wasn’t looking for pickup sex, and if Hutch even tried….

Hutch bought them both drinks at the bar and chose a table against the wall for them to occupy. 

‘Why are we here?’ asked Starsky.

‘I wanted the noise and the grungy atmosphere, that’s all,’ said Hutch. ‘Don’t look at me like I suddenly grew a second head.’

Starsky laughed. ‘Oh, wow. The picture you just put in my own head. You’re enough to handle with just one head. Imagine… why not throw in two cocks to complete the picture?’

‘I feel better already,’ said Hutch. ‘Why don’t we finish our drinks, and find someplace more salubrious?’ 

‘Sure,’ said Starsky. ‘Whatever that means.’

‘Healthier,’ Hutch explained.

Starsky looked around at the rather non-salubrious patrons and agreed. He swallowed his drink, quickly. Hutch had barely touched his, being more used to a higher grade of alcoholic beverages than the swill in this place. Thus, he still had an almost full glass of whatever passed here for whisky. A couple of the patrons over by the bar had been eyeing them both. Starsky had noted this out of the corner of his own eye, but Hutch had kept his attention on his lover. Now, just as Starsky was going to suggest they leave, two of the men got up and came over to their table. They were more than a bit drunk.

‘Hi, there, gorgeous!’ said the man who sat down beside Hutch. 

Hutch shifted away, barely looking at him. ‘This table is taken,’ he said.

‘Hey, don’t be such a cold bitch,’ the man admonished. 

Hutch didn’t answer, so Starsky did it for him. He turned to the second man and said, ‘You should drag your friend away by the scruff of the neck and take him to the vet before I do it for you. Savvy?’

The first man, the one sitting beside Hutch leaned over, breathing alcoholic fumes. ‘Listen, kike,' he said, 'you don’t get to keep all the pretty blond boys to yourself, huh?’ He put his hand down on Hutch’s crotch. 

Hutch threw the entire contents of his glass in the man’s face and exploded out of his seat with more force than Starsky had ever seen him use in any of his martial arts classes. ‘You keep your filthy hands off me and keep your ugly face out of the way of my lover,’ he shouted. 

‘Hey, hey!’ They could hear the bartender shouting at them. He was heading their way with a baseball bat. Starsky pulled out his police badge, and yelled something about it being a raid, and most of the men in the bar vanished into the night. They made their escape in the middle of the crowd. 

‘A raid!’ said Hutch, laughing with delight. ‘And they believed you!’

‘Most of those guys there have done something they were afraid to get caught over,’ said Starsky. ‘I could tell. What about you, Officer Beautiful? You got what you wanted?’

'Not everything I wanted.' Hutch pushed him up against a convenient wall and kissed him until Starsky thought his lips were almost worn off. 

When Hutch came up for air, Starsky pushed him away a little. ‘Unless you really want to do it in the alley over there,’ he noted, ‘I think we should go home.’


	2. Chapter 2

Hutch hadn’t been this quiet since that day a few weeks ago when they’d moved into the apartment. Starsky knew now that it all came from lost memories and the feeling of vulnerability that caused. But since that argument – nearly a fight, if truth be told – Hutch had been cheerful, sunny, warm, responsive, everything that Starsky sensed was his real personality. 

But that formidable silence could still descend. The silence was not directed at Starsky, he kept reminding himself. Hutch was lost in the jungle of his mind and missing some essential information to help him navigate the dangers. His stillness was that of a great golden panther, pacing slowly and carefully, all senses on high alert. He had not been uncaring of Starsky’s feelings, he knew that now. Hutch had sensed a vital truth – that once Starsky was drawn into Hutch’s world, he would soon be suffering along with his lover.

Starsky was more than willing to share Hutch’s pain, and so he did. He’d woken several times from dreams of facing Hutch’s tormentors. Sometimes he’d been able to set Hutch free. Other times he’d been trapped along with Hutch, suffering mysterious torments. Once or twice he’d turned on Hutch’s oppressors and torn them limb from limb. 

Where are we going now, Beloved? Are we going back to square one? Start over and go through all that again? Or can I push him just enough….

‘So…you go there often…Oh, come on. I know. That’s a hustler bar. You’re a hustler. Don’t need to play games with me.’ Play games with me, Hutch. Play along.

Hutch stopped dead in the street, nearly getting run over in the process. Starsky reached out and grabbed his arm, pulled him along. ‘Hey, there, you may be rough trade but you’re not invincible. Come on, let’s go back to my place.’

‘Okay,’ said Hutch, in a deep sad voice that had Starsky worried for a moment, until he added, ‘But I don’t kiss.’ 

Starsky laughed at this statement, since his lips still felt raw from their kisses. ‘How much you charge, again?’

‘More than you can afford, but I’ll give you a discount because you’re so cute.’ Hutch was walking backwards toward the car. Starsky pacing towards him, like a predator. 

I am a predator, thought Starsky. I’m the Black Panther, deep in enemy territory, looking for my mate, and I’m going to find you. I’ll find you and I’ll tear your chains asunder. My cute outward appearance is a mask for the killer that secretly lies within. Babe, you haven’t killed yet, I know this for a fact. Your eyes are not the eyes of a killer, mine are. I have killed -- legitimately in battle, I’m no murderer -- but it changes you. When you cross that threshold I will be there, waiting, to welcome you and comfort you. In the meantime, you must be set free, for only God knows what it might do to you to cross that threshold bound in chains. 

Hutch was looking a bit apprehensive now, so Starsky told himself to slow down. Slow down but don’t quit. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want to risk everything, his inner child wailed. You can’t quit now, you can’t wait, his older, wiser self replied. We don’t have the time. Hutch has already gotten into fights with perps, like that knife fight last week. Most cops don’t even draw their guns during their whole careers, let alone use them to kill people. But Hutch isn’t most cops. Hutch is going to be something else entirely. We are going to be something else entirely . It’s just a matter of time, and he can’t be that something languishing in chains. 

They reached the car, and Starsky held out his hand for the keys. ‘Come on, come on, play along,’ he said.

‘Oh, we’re still playing? Okay.’ Hutch smiled, but he looked a little pissed and that was scary. I’m playing with fire, thought Starsky. Please don’t let me burn away and leave my lover alone.

Starsky turned on the radio to cover the silence in the car. Found a radio station playing heavy rock, with deep thumping bass and drums. ‘Starsky?’ Hutch whispered.

‘Shh,’ he replied. He reached out and squeezed his lover’s knee. ‘Relax. We’re almost there.’ Almost where? Where are we going? God help me.

They parked and got out of the car. Hutch strode ahead on his long, elegant legs, not looking back. Clearly not happy. Starsky followed, not in a much better mood, but the die was cast. ‘Come on,’ he said as soon as they got inside their apartment. ‘We haven’t got all night. My wife will be home soon. Let’s fuck.’

‘Starsky, this isn’t funny.’

‘No, it’s not. But you’ve done this before, right?’

Hutch went white as a sheet. Starsky thought his heart was going to break, but he held on tight and kept riding. He bent down and lit the Presto Logs and pulled out the lube. Pulled the curtains closed. They had a thick rug on the floor in front of the fire that he hoped would keep down the noise the male couple downstairs would have to listen to tonight. Never mind, he told himself. They’ll probably enjoy it. I hope. ‘Aren’t you going to get undressed? Or are we going to do it with our clothes on?’

‘Why are you treating me this way?’ 

The hair on the back of Starsky’s neck was standing straight up. It was the voice of a 15year-old boy, not a 25year-old man. If this goes wrong, he thought, my life won’t be worth living, but I can always eat my own gun.

‘Come on, come on, quit fooling around.’ Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hand, pulled him over by the fire, and shoved him down on the rug. This is getting to be seriously non-consensual, he thought. What do I do now? I’ve never raped anyone before. I can’t do it. He threw himself down beside his lover on the rug, and….

‘Whatever you want,’ said Hutch. His voice was rough and savage. Not his own deep, sweet voice, but the voice of a hard, angry man. But at least not that scary kid voice. He rose up over Starsky, started pulling off his clothes, Starsky’s clothes, but leaving his own on. Leaving his holster on. ‘You want this?’ he shouted. 

‘Yes, yes. Fuck me. Go on.’ This was not the way they talked, but Starsky never wanted to remember the details of this scene when it was over, so screw it. 

Hutch grabbed the lube and put it in Starsky’s hand. ‘Put it on me!’ he ordered. Starsky unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock, that he adored, and spread the lube over it. At this point in the proceedings, he would normally kiss it, addressing it with words of love and worship, telling Hutch how beautiful it was. And it was. A deep rose colour, he said, like a lovely alien plant. Hutch would laugh and tell Starsky it was all his imagination, it was just a penis. But Starsky would persist, accepting Hutch into his body as if he were a deity. He couldn’t do any of that now, or it would be game over.

Hutch pulled Starsky’s legs up over his shoulders and pushed his cock deep inside Starsky’s ass. Starsky had engaged in hard, angry sex before, but never with Hutch, and never in this position. He’d become accustomed to the tenderness, the absolute loving nature of their sexual intercourse. Hutch had been wild in bed with him many times. As Starsky told him, it was the wildness of an angel with magical sexual powers.

The first time they’d ever made love, when Starsky told him he’d never let a man fuck him in the ass before, Hutch had been a bit afraid. ‘I’ve never had a virgin,’ he protested. 

‘I’ll survive,’ Starsky assured him. And he had, though it had been a near thing. The size of him, the shape of him, the feeling of him moving inside, stretching him, pushing deeper and deeper. Pressing against that place inside of him that he’d read about but never experienced. Oh, God, the pleasure had almost been the death of him. Then the rush of semen inside, Hutch’s moans and eventual screams of ecstasy, which he’d managed to smother in his pillow. Starsky had felt reborn. He’d felt, not like a non-man, as some ignorant people would have called him, but a real man. A man who could handle another real man and survive. Yes, he’d survived.

He wasn’t sure if he’d survive this. He held onto that beautiful memory, which may well be his last, and used every particle of strength he possessed to flip Hutch over on his back. 

‘I’m taking control now!’ he announced. They were still joined, but now Starsky was the one on top, and not just physically. He moved, up and down, just enough to help Hutch keep his erection. He bent over Hutch, looking deeply into his eyes. ‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘Who is hurting you?’ Please, please let this all be worthwhile, he prayed.

Tears were running down Hutch’s face. ‘Starsky?’ Back to the plaintive voice of that tormented child.

‘I’m here. I’ve always been here. I always will be here, no matter what. Tell me who is hurting you and I’ll kill him.’

Hutch sobbed. ‘I never knew his name, not his real name,’ he said. ‘They told me he was Brother Bob. He… I was hooking, remember?’

‘Yes. I’ll kill every man who touched you. It’s not your fault. You’re an angel. Who hurt you, Angel?’

‘I was on the street, and a man stopped beside me and invited me in. But he wasn’t a John. He told me I was under arrest, but then drove me to my parents. They signed papers, sent me to a camp. They said… they were saving me. Saving my soul. They told me I was ugly, ugly inside. Such a terrible sinner, they said, that God would send me to burn in Hell unless….’

Hutch was losing his erection, so Starsky started moving again. Tenderly, with utter love. He poured out every word of love he could think of, and wished he knew more languages of love to give him. ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘You’re inside me. You’re safe.’

Hutch was calmer now, not shaking. ‘The camp. They did things… with electricity. Put electrodes on our testicles. Ice cubes. Anything they could think of to hurt us. Told us every day that we were evil. Brother Bob… he used to take us out of the camp into the woods and rape us and beat us. He told us he was doing that to save our souls. To show us how ugly our lives would be if….’

Starsky couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked him. Killing them would be too good for them, he thought, for the monsters that would dare such things. But he had to slow down now. He had to give Hutch release now. He’d remembered things that no one should have to remember, but now Starsky was sure the chains were being torn asunder, it was time to forget again, for a while. He turned them over, so that Hutch was back on top.

‘I belong to you,’ he said. ‘Fuck me like the angel you are.’


	3. Chapter 3

Starsky awoke to a beautiful bright morning. Well, most days in Greater LA were beautiful and bright. Like that movie, LA Story. He realized they’d slept in a little, and unless they got moving, he’d have to drive them to Metro down steep staircases, like Steve Martin.

‘Hey, hey, Soldier, rise and shine. We gotta get our rears in gear!’

Hutch groaned and rolled over. Looked up with bleary eyes, but a soft smile of reminiscence. ‘I thought we did that last night,’ he noted. ‘That’s the problem.’

‘Yeah, well. Time stops for no one. Even guys who spent too much time last night fucking.’ He grinned. ‘Not that there really is such a thing….’ He bustled out of the bedroom, where they’d supplemented last night’s sex marathon with a kicker of love-making, and ran around grabbing their clean uniforms out of the hall closet. Clean! My God! They needed to be clean! ‘Hutch! We need showers. Badly. Grab a shower, Babe. I’ll get us breakfast.’ Hutch had a jar of his favourite gruesome slush in the fridge, and there was cold pizza for him. He ate the pizza while he found their shoes. How had they ended up there? Never mind… Socks! Underwear! Unless they went commando? Nope. Not his best idea ever. 

‘You wouldn’t happen to be a mother hen, would you?’ asked Hutch from the bathroom door. 

‘Only for you,’ said Starsky, flatly. ‘Drink your poison. Hurry.’ Hutch, the angel, had left the shower running. He dived in, grabbed the soap, and washed the delicious scent of Hutch’s cum off his body. It wasn’t fair, but there it was. Spencer wouldn’t appreciate smelling his and Hutch’s mingled bodily secretions all day long in a hot car. When he thought he was clean enough he jumped out of the shower and headed for the bedroom to dress. Hutch was making the bed.

‘Foggedaboutit!’ he yelled and dived into their underwear and sock drawers. ‘Go brush your teeth.’ Hutch wasted a second or two glaring at him as usual for being bossy, but obeyed, because of course his order was sensible.

They made it out the door on time. ‘Thanks,’ said Hutch. 

‘Don’t mention it.’ It was his day to drive his car. His car wasn’t the flashy thing he dreamed of, but it was in better shape than Hutch’s horror. Whatever had Hutch been thinking?

‘Last night….’ Hutch started.

‘Oh, Babe. We’ll talk about last night tonight. Okay? I can’t talk about it now, or I’ll drive us off the road. We gotta get through the day. Crappy coffee. Druggies barfing on our shoes. All the joys of being a hero.’

‘Mmmm. We wouldn’t have met if we hadn’t….’

‘I know. It’s the kind of thing that keeps me believing in God in spite of all the horrors in this world. What you wanna do tonight? Go dancing, like we were gonna do last night, or….?’

‘Yeah. I love dancing with you, even if I do have two left feet and keep stepping on your toes.’

‘You just gotta practice more. Like with the martial arts.’ Like with the memories, thought Starsky. You practiced shutting them down for years and got really good at it. But that was when you didn’t have me as your refuge. Your only refuge from the monsters was in silence. Now I’ll help you drag the monsters into the light of day and shoot them. 

Starsky pulled into the dark parking garage. As rookies, they had spots in the deepest, darkest bowels of the structure. Hutch said there was something chthonic about it all. ‘It’s what?’ asked Starsky.

‘Chthonic. The Underworld in ancient Greek religion was called khthon. It means earth, but not the surface of the earth that we walk on, but the subterranean earth. The ancient Greeks made sacrifices to the Gods of the Underworld, like Hades and Persephone.’

‘Wait… do you know ancient Greek?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Because, Harvard and all that.’

‘I want to help people, Starsky. Studying all that stuff was a joy, but I need to help people.’

Starsky pulled into their parking space. His parking space, actually, since they had two. Hutch’s was on the other side of the garage, and far from the stairwell and elevators, so they parked here, no matter whose car they drove. They gathered stuff they might need from the glove compartment, then climbed out of the car. Officers Cathy Bell and Mark Rollins pulled in a moment later, just as Starsky and Hutch headed for the elevator, next to the stairwell. They laughed and waved, and Starsky turned to give them a humorous middle finger. They laughed because they’d become friends since Academy days. Starsky joked that they were his evil rivals, but if it hadn’t been for their attack on Hutch’s virtue that day….

Starsky turned to wink at Hutch, but his lover had disappeared. ‘Hutch? Hutch? Quit futzing around. We gotta get on duty. Hutch?’

Cathy yelled from her car. ‘Starsky, someone pulled him into that stairwell. What’s going on?’

Starsky dived for the stairwell, and burst in. Someone hit him on the side of the head, and he went down. He rolled and staggered to his feet. He whirled around. A big cop was locking the stairwell door, then running over to Hutch, and pulling him to his feet. Starsky saw to his horror that Hutch had a thick rope around his neck, and the big cop was using it to garrote him.

Years ago, in the Bronx, after his father had been murdered, Starsky had gone a little crazy and gotten involved in some bad stuff. His family had sent him to relatives in Israel, who had signed him up for the Israeli Defense Forces. Starsky had never figured out how they managed it, but his family had pretty amazing connections, that was for sure. While in the IDF, Starsky had been trained in Krav Maga until he was covered in bruises from head to foot on a regular basis. His teachers had been the best in the business, and no other martial arts training he’d ever known had come close. Certainly not what they taught here in LA, in his opinion at least. His brand of Krav Maga was not for show, not for martial arts competitions, where the point was to show your form and skill. His brand was to kill, or at least severely incapacitate your opponent, in the most aggressive way possible in the least amount of time. He had never demonstrated this brand in martial arts classes here in the BCPD. 

Starsky erupted off the cement floor like Bruce Lee on speed. The moves drilled into him years ago seemed to spin out of his central nervous system, responding to the scream of agony from his very soul. His hands, like the talons of an eagle, tore into the other cop’s face, his eyes, his throat. The man screamed and dropped Hutch, and turned on Starsky, who kicked upwards, aiming for his groin, his knees, his liver, anything and everything. The other cop raised his fist, about to bring it down on Starsky’s face, but then staggered and almost fell over. Starsky rolled out of the way on time. 

Hutch had managed to get to his feet and trip him despite the noose still around his neck. Starsky whirled in a roundhouse kick that connected with the other cop’s ass and sent him flying into the stairwell wall. Starsky and Hutch were standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder like ancient Greek warriors in battle. The other cop slid down the wall and didn’t move again. 

Starsky could hear shouting outside the stairwell. Cathy was waving through the thick glass window, shouting something about backup on the way. He left it to her. He turned and caught Hutch just before he collapsed on the cold floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Hutch’s arms were around him. They held onto each other for a long, precious moment, just breathing together. From several flights up the stairwell, Starsky could hear footsteps. Running. But suddenly he realized he didn’t know who it was descending that staircase. He helped Hutch to sit on one of the bottom steps, pulled the garotte off his neck as gently as possible and ran to unlock the heavy fire door to let in Cathy Bell. 

Cathy burst through the doorway. Her eyes were wild. ‘We saw it all,’ she said. ‘Mark went to get help. What the hell?’

‘Yeah,’ said Starsky. He sat down beside Hutch and took him in his arms. ‘We need the EMTs. We need an ambulance.’ We need lawyers, he thought. God help us, we probably need lawyers.

‘Who is this creep?’ Cathy went up to the cop slumped against the wall. 

‘Be careful,’ said Starsky. ‘I don’t think he’s dead.’ Rage surged through his veins, and he brought it under savage control, as he’d been taught in the IDF. You used extreme, unqualified force to counter the threat, but never went beyond that because it was a waste of time and energy. It would have been a waste of time and energy to stomp that piece of shit into the ground and set fire to it, but it would have felt so good.

‘It’s Gunther!’ said Cathy. ‘Andrew Gunther. Mark and I made a date with him when we first started here, and it was strange, really strange.’

‘I guess,’ said Starsky, shrugging.

‘What happened?’ whispered Hutch. 

Cathy started to answer, but then the stairwell began to fill with cops. Hutch’s partner, a big Black officer called Martin Rogers, was first. He had his gun drawn, but when he saw Starsky holding Hutch he relaxed. ‘All clear!’ he called up the stairs. He knelt beside them on the cement floor and took Hutch’s hand in his own. ‘You okay, partner?’ he asked. Hutch managed to nod. ‘What about you, man?’ he asked Starsky. ‘You need anything?’

A few moments before, feeling cold and drained after the fight, and sick with the betrayal from one of their own, Starsky had believed they were alone, facing a dangerous world. Now, after Cathy’s concern, and this sympathy from a man he knew to be about as totally heterosexual as it was possible to be, he realized this was not true. ‘I need to go to the hospital with Hutch,’ he said. ‘I can’t let him go alone.’

‘Oh, you guys won’t go alone,’ said a voice above them on the stairs. It was his own partner, Spencer. ‘We’re going with you.’ He stomped over to the stairwell door. ‘Come on! Where’s the EMTs? We don’t have all day!’

Starsky closed his eyes, letting his extreme watchfulness drain away. Spencer and Rogers were armed and dangerous, and they were on the job, and now he could turn his attention to taking care of Hutch.

********

The ride to the hospital was annoying mainly because Hutch kept insisting he was okay and didn’t need to go there. Rogers finally shut him up by pointing a big, burly finger at him and saying, ‘Hey. Rookie. You just do what you’re told and quit arguing.’

Hutch started to laugh. It changed to a cough, and his face went white. ‘Sorry!’ said Rogers. ‘But you see what I mean. Didn’t they tell you in the Academy? Strangulation is no joke. You need to be checked out.’ 

Hutch sighed and closed his eyes. Starsky took his hand and held it the rest of the way. His paranoia was fading. No one had expressed the least concern for Andrew Gunther. Starsky had been informed that the man was alive but unconscious and being taken to the hospital as well, but he hadn’t stayed to watch him being loaded into the ambulance. 

Bay City General was in its usual state of chaos, but there was still a semblance of control in Emergency. What control there was seemed to centre around a tall, slim doctor in a white coat. The man looked up, saw the parade of cops entering his ER, with another cop on a stretcher, and strode over. ‘What happened here?’ he asked in a calm voice. 

Rogers answered. ‘My partner here. Got nearly strangled.’

‘Nearly,’ Hutch whispered. ‘I’m okay.’

Starsky read the doctor’s name tag. Dr. R. Silver. Head of Trauma. Nice department to be the head of, he thought. 

Dr. R. Silver regarded his new patient, and then turned his attention to Starsky for a moment. He studied their clasped hands. He smiled gently at Starsky. ‘You want to come along while I check him out?’ he asked. 

‘I want Starsky with me,’ said Hutch. 

‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Dr. Silver. ‘We’ll put you in this cubicle here.' 

The doctor checked Hutch’s vision, his fingernails, felt his throat thoroughly. Asked a lot of questions. ‘Do you remember blacking out? You sure about that? Sometimes people don’t remember. Do you have any blurred vision? I’m going to run some tests, but I think you’re okay, and can go home after. If you notice your fingernails turning blue, or any red spots….’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ said Starsky. ‘If I notice any changes in his behavior….’

‘Good man,’ said Dr. Silver. ‘How did this happen, by the way?’

‘We were going on shift at the Bay City PD,’ said Hutch. ‘We were walking to the elevator. It’s right by the stairwell. The door opened, and someone grabbed my arm. I was so surprised. I mean, you don’t expect to be attacked at work. In a police station.’

‘Your attacker was a cop?’

‘Yeah, he had a rope around my neck and started choking me before I even realized what was going on.’

Starsky muttered something obscene. Hutch patted his hand. ‘I’m okay. Listen, Starsky. I remember him. He’s in our martial arts classes. He was in the showers yesterday. Remember?’

‘But why? Why attack you, try to kill you? He doesn’t know us, does he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Hutch. ‘Maybe it’s just a sexually based attack. He’s trying to deny his sexuality, so he attacks someone who doesn’t hide his own.’ Hutch turned to the doctor, who was looking concerned. ‘We’re completely open at work,’ he said. ‘We don’t engage in PDAs, but only because it’s not proper work behavior. But we were naked in the showers along with everyone else, and maybe he thought that was a kind of….’ 

Hutch’s voice had been getting weaker and finally seemed to wear out. ‘I get what you’re saying,’ said Dr. Silver. ‘Give your throat a rest, while I order some tests. Pain killers. I’m going to call my lover. He’s a Lieutenant at the BCPD.’

‘Lt. Strach…?’ Hutch started to say, and couldn’t go on.

‘Lt. Strachan, yes. Miles is one of the leaders of the gay association there. You should talk to him.’

‘I don’t think we need….’

‘Yes,’ said Dr. Silver. ‘You do. You can’t let this pass. Gay people being harassed, having shit put in their lockers….’

‘We never had any of those problems,’ said Starsky. ‘Things have been fine, and we don’t want to cause trouble.’

‘And then a fellow cop tries to murder one of you? You’re not causing trouble, guys. The trouble came after you, and unless you do something, it might continue. Trust me, Miles is tough as nails. Tougher. But he’s a sweet guy under it all. Get some rest while I order those tests and make some calls. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Starsky. 

He looked at Hutch. Hutch looked back. He moved over on the bed, patted the mattress beside him, and whispered, ‘Come.’

Starsky climbed up on the bed, and wrapped Hutch in his arms. This was as much for his own comfort as for Hutch’s, he thought.


	5. Chapter 5

The previous night:

‘I belong to you,’ he told Hutch, with all the passionate love he was capable of feeling. ‘Fuck me like the angel you are.’

They had often engaged in wild, violent sex in the time – close to a year now -- they’d been together. But the wildness had been mutually desired, the violence tempered with utter tenderness. They had never even pretended anger. Starsky loved to work off Hutch’s occasional pent up energy after a hard day at work, and Hutch loved to reciprocate. But they had never had sex in anger. Even that night Starsky first broke down Hutch’s walls, neither of them had been mad at the other, and the sex had been of the make-up kind. Tender and full of relief that they were finally on the same page.

Now Starsky was offering his body as the battlefield upon which Hutch could conquer his enemies. Starsky knew about this kind of sex from personal experience. When he’d been a soldier, he’d had – no, not lovers -- fuck buddies. Men he had affection for, but whom he would never have claimed to be in love with. IDF policy forbade any form of homophobia from being expressed -- though of course it still occurred -- but Starsky had encountered little of it. As long as sex didn’t take place in a military base, or between an officer and someone under his or her command, the IDF considered it to be entirely a personal matter.

Sometimes after battle, when tempers were still high, Starsky would be overwhelmed with sexual need, and would find one of these partners – sometimes more than one at a time – and engage in post-battle sex that relieved the stresses and pressures that might otherwise have exploded in real violence. It was then that Starsky had begun to discover a talent for such acts. He’d discovered and developed a power over other gay men. One of his friends had warned him that such powers could be dangerous if used casually, by an untrained person, and Starsky agreed, but the powers remained. He remembered a night out in the desert. A cave. One of his friends had lost his lover in battle, and Starsky had offered himself as a comfort, and a way to work out grief. In the subterranean dark of the cave, he had played the part of the lost lover….

Now, with his own lover sobbing out his own grief and pain, Starsky felt no sexual desire. He thought that Hutch felt little or none, either. It was purely a physical thing. The body responded to sexual stimulus, in a physical way, whether it was desired or not. Sometimes that reaction could be unpleasant. But the stimulus could open a door into the mind. Or the soul. 

He felt Hutch climax and shudder with reaction. He felt himself shudder, too. No one could survive too much of this. He wondered at the impact Brother Bob’s repeated rapes of innocent gay children must have had on his own soul, if he had any soul left. If the man were gay himself… No, not gay, not ever. He was truly a pervert to torture other gay people like that. He deserved all the mental and emotional suffering he was imposing on himself, but how could anyone feel so much self-hatred? 

Hutch lay upon Starsky’s body, limp, breathing deeply. He gave a deep sigh, and raised his head, and looked down into Starsky’s eyes….

********  
With a jolt, Starsky came to himself, remembering everything they’d gone through since that supreme moment of triumph. There was someone else in the room. How long had he been there? Starsky lifted his head from his lover’s shoulder and looked around.

The man was large. Very large. He wasn’t particularly handsome but had undeniable presence. His face was lined and doleful in appearance but remarkably kind, and his eyes were bright and beautiful, like Hutch’s. 

‘Oh, hello,’ the man said. ‘Did I wake you?’

‘We weren’t asleep,’ said Starsky. ‘We just went through….’ He couldn’t go on.

‘A rather unpleasant experience, yes,’ said the other man, with an amazing degree of understatement. ‘The story is all over the BCPD, and Rick filled me in with more details.’

‘Rick? You mean Dr. Silver? Oh! You must be… Sorry, Lieutenant.’ Starsky started to sit up more, wondering if he could trust his legs to hold him upright. Hutch started to brace himself, too.

Lt. Miles Strachan shook his head. ‘Please don’t get up,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a formal interview of any kind, and I never stand on ceremony unless I’m out to make a point. You know what I mean?’

Starsky smiled. He sat up, nevertheless, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he could study the other police officer more thoroughly. Hutch shifted up the bed, so he could get a better view as well. 

‘Do you mind answering a few questions? So far, I’ve had Officer Bell’s report, Officer Rollins’ report, and Rick’s report on what you told him while he was examining you. I’d like something a bit more… first hand.’

‘Sure,’ Hutch whispered. He repeated the story about driving into the garage and being grabbed. ‘The hand pulled me into the stairwell,’ he said. ‘And the next thing I knew there was a rope around my neck and I was being strangled. I don’t know if I can talk much more.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘That was a very succinct report, and I won’t keep you talking much longer. Rick has set up some tests for you, and then he wants you to go home and rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow. But Officer Starsky, do you have anything to add?’

‘I didn’t see the initial attack,’ said Starsky. ‘Cathy and Mark had a ring-side seat. Cathy told me Hutch had been grabbed and I managed to get into the stairwell before the door was locked. I beat the shit out of the guy. End report.’

Lt. Strachan laughed. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘An even more succinct report. Rick tells me you’re a little reluctant to make a case about this attack as homophobic?’

‘We’re not sure if it is,’ Hutch whispered. 

‘We’re not sure either way,’ said Starsky. ‘We can’t remember having anything to do with him personally. I think I saw him in the hallway once or twice, and that’s it for me.’ 

Hutch went on, ‘He didn’t say a word to me while strangling me. Homophobic or otherwise.’

‘Did you notice if he had a hard on?’ Starsky asked. 

Hutch shook his head. ‘All I noticed was the rope.’

‘Rick mentioned something you told him earlier, about the showers.’

‘I can’t talk much more,’ said Hutch. ‘Could Starsky….?’

Lt. Strachan nodded, and looked at Starsky. ‘We’ve been showering with the other guys since we started there. Same at the Academy. We’ve had no problems. Nothing open, anyway. Just to put this in perspective…Hutch never notices when he’s being cruised. Almost never. I think it’s just like a fish not noticing the water, but anyway. Yesterday, we took a martial arts class….’

‘Is that where you learned to fight like that?’ asked the Lieutenant.

‘No,’ said Starsky. ‘We went to the showers after. I saw a couple of guys look at Hutch, but it wasn’t anything…overt, you know? They weren’t really cruising him. Everyone there knows we’re lovers. They knew from the start. Gunther wasn’t one of them, the guys giving Hutch the eye, I mean. He didn’t pay any attention.’

‘But Gunther must have known.’

‘We never discussed the matter personally, but he had as much chance to know as anyone else. We’ve been at Metro a month.’

‘What was different about yesterday, then?’

‘He was coming to the end of a cycle, and his murderous tendencies were rising? Who knows. But it couldn’t be anything to do with homosexual panic or any garbage like that. But…look, Hutch and I have sex. A lot.’

‘I think he’s figured that out, Starsk.’

‘We like to give each other hickeys.’

‘Really, Starsk!’

‘Peace, Hutch. I’m mentioning this because you had a fair assortment on your body yesterday.’

‘And even more today. So what?’

‘Maybe that sent him over the edge. I don’t know. The LT asked me what may have been different.’

Starsky thought about that night in the desert, in the cave, with jackals howling all around. He thought about how it had been the first time he realized how deeply a man could love another man, and that sex didn’t diminish the love, but could deepen it, if they were lucky. That night he learned that he wanted a man to love him for himself, some day. How terrible to live your life unable to accept such love, he thought, and even to wish to kill a man you desired.

‘No,’ said Starsky. ‘I still can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt Hutch.’


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Silver insisted that Hutch have the next day off to recover from nearly dying, and Starsky took a family emergency day to take care of him. He was entitled to this since they were registered as Domestic Partners. They spent most of the day in bed, resting. They were both too keyed up to have sex, but they rested in each other’s arms, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies, exploring the differences that they often didn’t have time to pay attention to when they were burning with passion for each other. 

Some of the time they spent counting scars. They both had an assortment of small, pale scars left over from childhood. Hutch had one on his arm that he got playing soccer, and another on the small of his back that he couldn’t account for. 

‘It looks like a small X,’ said Starsky. He felt Hutch shudder all over and changed the subject. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I got this scar on the Israeli border, and this one in Afghanistan.’

‘Real battle scars!’ said Hutch.

‘Don’t sound so impressed,’ said Starsky. ‘You got this one in that knife fight last week.’

The next day was Saturday, and they didn't work weekends. Starsky woke with an erection that didn’t go away when he got up to pee. He was leaning on the bathroom sink, trying to will it to go away before he went back to bed with Hutch. But Hutch came up behind him and pressed his own cock against his ass. ‘Don’t worry, Partner,’ he said. ‘I got you covered.’

They stumbled back to bed, wrestling with each other, struggling over who would be on top, when it didn’t really matter, because whatever position they ended in, they both won. ‘Hutch, Hutch. You could’a died. I would’a seen you die. Stuck out in the hallway. Trying to break down the door. Screaming for help. Trying to get to you any way I could….’ Gunther had locked the stairwell doors up to the fourth floor, they’d been told. Starsky had had a nightmare last night about running up endless flights of stairs to get to Hutch. He’d woken up crying. 

‘Do you want me to fuck you or do you wanna fuck me?’ Hutch asked, with his usual consideration for Starsky’s opinion on the matter.

‘I wanna do both,’ Starsky insisted. ‘At once.’

They weren’t quite able to achieve that miracle, but they made a good attempt, and finally compromised by taking turns.

After having a shower – together -- and getting breakfast, they lay on the sofa they’d arranged in the big bay window in the living room. There were palm trees nodding gently in the wind across the street. Hutch kept combing his fingers through the hair on Starsky’s chest. Starsky was gently stroking Hutch’s jean-covered crotch and starting to consider the benefits of going back to bed when the phone rang. 

‘Let me answer it,’ he told Hutch. ‘You just lie back and look gorgeous…. Hello? Starsky and Hutch residence…. Ah. Hello, Lieutenant. How are you today? That’s good. We’re fine too. Um… I’ll ask him…. Hey, Hutch. The LT wants to come talk to us about something. He wouldn’t say about what, and Hutch, he’s a Lieutenant. I can’t really interrogate him. Yeah, okay…. Lieutenant? Hutch says that will be fine. What time do you… A half-hour? Okay. See you then.’ He hung up and turned to look at his gorgeous lover. ‘What could I say?’ he mourned. 

‘Nothing,’ Hutch agreed. ‘But at least we won’t have to stage manage the apartment and pretend to be just good friends, like back in the good old days.’

‘He’s bringing some kind of partner of his. A psychologist, he says. I dunno, but I couldn’t really say no. If this guy starts trying to psychoanalyze us, though….’

Hutch shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone could,’ he said. ‘Besides, psychologists don’t psychoanalyze anyone. They’re not allowed to.’

They both put on T-shirts and straightened the apartment. Made fresh coffee. Arranged chairs to look casually welcoming. The doorbell rang. 

Lieutenant Strachan was at the door, with another man, and he was a surprise. A tall, elegant man with slightly greying hair. And he was straight. They could both tell that off the bat, with their fully active gaydar. 

‘Please, gentlemen, come in. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? We just made it.’ Hutch was being at his most gracious and polite, and Starsky was enjoying every moment of it. 

Lieutenant Strachan began the conversation proper. ‘This is a friend of mine, Dr. Alex Delaney. Alex works as a Police Consultant, and he’s a brilliant detective. No, no, Alex, don’t be so modest. We’ve been friends since we were boys.’

‘Okay,’ said Hutch. ‘Is this about the attempt on my life? Yeah, I guess that’s obvious, but….’

‘But you’re wondering what more you can possibly do to help,’ the Lieutenant noted.

‘Yes,’ said Starsky. ‘We both told you everything we know. I wish to God I could tell you more. But…what has the bastard told you himself? Nothing much, I guess, but I’d like to be in an interview room with him.’

‘They wouldn’t let you interrogate him, Starsky. Even if you were a detective,’ said Hutch.

‘And it wouldn’t be any use now,’ said Lt. Strachan. ‘He’s dead.’

‘Well, I can’t say I’m going to mourn him,’ said Starsky. ‘But…did he die because of me beating the crap outa him?’

‘No. He hanged himself in his cell.’

‘Hanged?' Asked Hutch. 'You mean…he strangled himself? Ugg.’

Starsky patted Hutch’s knee. ‘Don’t think about it,’ he started to say, then apologized. ‘I guess it’s kinda hard not to think about it. But he chose that for himself.’ He turned to the LT. ‘Are they sure he hanged himself, sir?’

‘The incident is being investigated, but it looks like the case.’

‘Okay, so what do we do now? He’s paid for his crime. It doesn’t look like being worth pursuing some kind of case against the Police Department for allowing a homophobe in their ranks.’

‘You’re right,’ said Dr. Delaney. ‘That’s not why we’re here. We still want to know why he attacked you. It’s a troubling case. Graffiti on your locker. Obscene phone calls. Being pushed around in the showers. All very troubling and wrong. But strangling someone is a whole different ball game. Even with a ligature, it’s a very personal method of murder. Almost a crime of passion. It’s a method often used by domestic partners….’

Starsky exploded out of his seat. ‘What are you saying…that Hutch and this guy were lovers, because that’s not possible….’

Hutch reached for his hand and pulled him back down on the sofa beside him. ‘Calm down, Babe. I’m sure that’s not what they were saying. Is it?’

‘No, that’s not what we’re saying, Officer. We’ve been considering the possibility of it being a sex-based killing by someone who couldn’t accept being gay, or who was a serial murderer of gay men, or something along those lines.’

‘Sorry,’ said Starsky. ‘We’ve been having a few bad days lately. Thank God it’s the weekend.’

‘I understand,’ said Dr. Delaney. He had a very calm soothing voice. Lt. Strachan sat back, letting the doctor do the talking, watching both Starsky and Hutch carefully. 

‘We checked out his apartment, of course,’ Delaney went on, as if this were the usual practice of police psychologists. ' We found some pictures among his effects, and we’d like you to take a look at them. See if you could confirm or deny some of our speculations.’

‘Speculations about what?’ Starsky snarled. 

‘You are very protective of your lover,’ Delaney noted in his calm, clinical voice. That voice didn’t sound so soothing now. 

‘Yes, I’m protective of my lover,’ said Starsky, in his most obnoxious Bronx tones. ‘You wanna make something of it?’

‘Starsky, sit down,’ said Hutch. Starsky sat down. He picked up his coffee mug and took a big swallow. 

‘What are the pictures, if you don’t mind my asking?’ asked Hutch. ‘If they are pictures of me back in my hustler days, that was ten years ago, and I don’t give a damn. I was underage, and I’m reformed – mostly. I don’t charge Starsky anywhere near what I’m worth.’

Starsky spat out his entire mouthful of coffee, and nearly choked laughing. ‘That’s my Hutch,’ he said. He grabbed a box of tissue and cleaned up the mess, watching the other men, who hadn’t even blinked. 

‘No, these aren’t dirty sex pictures of you,’ said Lt. Strachan.

‘Damn,’ said Starsky.

‘They’re something much more disturbing,’ Delaney added.

Hutch held out a hand. ‘Give!’ he commanded. Strachan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small envelope filled with photos. He handed the photos to Hutch. 

They were prints, large format prints. They were of boys. Boys sitting in circles on bare floors. Boys sitting at picnic tables, plates of very plain, rather unappetizing food in front of them. Boys being lectured by men standing in front of them in some kind of chapel. 

Boys being beaten and raped.

‘They took photos!’ Starsky bellowed. ‘What the fuck!’

‘Starsky. Sit down.’

‘Sorry. Sorry my darling. Don’t look at them. Babe, don’t look.’ He grabbed the photos and tried to hide them behind his back.

‘I have to look. I’m strong enough, as long as you’re here. Give them back. Please.’

It broke his heart, but he handed them back. 

‘This…this is the camp they sent me to. Yes. I’ve been trying to picture it, trying to remember more of the things that happened there. This will help, thanks. Just give me a moment, okay? Starsky? Take care of these photos for a moment. I…I’ll be right back. Promise. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.’

Hutch got up and ran for the bathroom. They could hear sounds of vomiting, then water running. Hutch went into the kitchen and got a can of soda. He popped it open and came back to sit on the sofa, beside Starsky. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.

Starsky handed back the terrible photos without a word. 

‘I’m so sorry, Officer Hutchinson,’ said Delaney. ‘We never meant to cause you or your lover so much pain.’

‘Call me Hutch,’ said Hutch. ‘It’s shorter.’ He sifted through the photos again. ‘This one here, at the picnic table. This is me, at the end of the table. The kid next to me…Daniel. Can’t remember his last name. He committed suicide a few days later. The boy at the other end. I think that’s Andy.’

‘Andy! Andy?’ Starsky grabbed the photo. There was a slight resemblance, yes. ‘You think this is the guy who tried to kill you? For fuck’s sake, Hutch!’

‘Yeah, that’s what I think, Starsk.’ He turned to Delaney and the LT. ‘Please don’t think I was trying to keep anything from you,’ he said. ‘There’s so much I don’t remember. I’ve been trying to remember, for the last ten years, but it was too…too painful until Starsky helped.’

‘Tried to help. I’m not very good at it.’

‘You’re brilliant,’ said Hutch. ‘No one else. No one, LT. I won’t talk to counselors about this. I’m sorry, Dr. Delaney. I’m sure you are a very good man and a good psychologist, but the mere thought makes me throw up. That camp was a gay conversion camp, designed to counsel us to not be gay any longer. It didn't stop me being gay, but it did leave me scarred for life, I'm sure. Starsky has been helping me. These photos are helping. My memories will come back, and I’ll pass on anything I learn. But I won't talk to a counselor about it. Could you pass on some information to me if you happen to find out, LT?’

‘Sure, Hutch. What do you want to know?’ Lt. Strachan’s voice was very gentle. His eyes, the eyes of a tough, experienced police lieutenant who had seen all kinds of terrible things throughout his career – those eyes were moist with unshed tears. 

‘Did Andrew Gunther have a small scar on his back. Right here? Shaped like an X? That would confirm that he was one of us. The strangulation… I should have remembered then. But I probably didn’t want to remember. That was another method of torture, used only by Brother Bob. He used to strangle us, only for a short time, not long enough to kill us. The X on our back was put there when he’d judged he’d strangled us enough. I used to wonder, to try to remember what it was he’d done that made me lose my memories. I guess that was it. Mystery solved.’

There was a long silence. Then the LT spoke up. ‘So, this Andrew Gunther, it looks like he was replicating what Brother Bob did to him.’

‘Yes, and there were a lot of kids went through that camp and the others like them. I would imagine there are more guys out there, still carrying on Brother Bob’s good work.’ 

THE END (for now)


End file.
